The King has Done a Terrible Thing
TW: brief (non graphic) mention of death near the end!!! You've been warned. ---- Andromeda no longer remembers her brother’s name. When he’s around, she calls him brother. They are of the same blood, born on the same day. Twins. The sun and the moon. He calls her Andy, and he is clever. He has the softest curls, like clouds, like cotton candy, and she hates him for them. Their father always pats his head tenderly when they cross over to his side of the castle. She thinks it’s why he likes him best. They are only children. One of her fondest memories is of a game they used to play. Andromeda chases him through meadows of green and yellow, and they laugh until they make themselves sick. She remembers the glow of mirth, suffusing through her entire being. The pounding of her heart, the ache in her lungs, his sweaty hand in hers… In that time, she is perfect and wonderful and alive. She is still very young when the fairies come to take her brother away. Her mother makes her understand that the whole affair is all her father’s fault. “Your father,” she says, “has done many Bad Things. But, what he did to your brother was a Terrible Thing. Don’t ever forgive him for it.” What he does is this: He comes into their room. He picks her brother up. Her mother screams and cries, but he does not listen. And he carries her brother off. He comes back empty handed. Andromeda blinks at the two of them, confused by the cacophony. “Where’s my brother?” Her mother swallows another sob. Her father looks at her with tired eyes. “He’ll be back soon.” He says, and the two parents, strangers in the same house, depart in different directions. He’ll be back soon. She repeats to herself with a smile, and goes right back to sleep. She doesn’t know that her kingdom’s built on lies, on salt, on sand. All things so easily washed out to sea. ---- “Who’s that?” She asks, precisely two days later. “Your brother.” Her father gestures at the boy by his side. “Won’t you say hullo, son?” “Hello, Andy.” They chirp more than speak. Andromeda stares them down. “That is not my brother.” “Andy-” “No.” She’d like to think that she spits fire in that moment, but it’s more temper tantrum than fiery protest. Her father senses this too, and smiles. “Andromeda, please. Show some decorum towards your brother.” Her mother sounds weary, but there is fear there too. She can see her hands shake, and the tension in her shoulders. She too can tell that there is something not quite right about the boy that came back. Andromeda doesn’t want to look at him. She doesn’t want to see this facsimile anymore. Her brother is missing. That is not her brother. She flees, and doesn’t look back. ---- Creak goes the door. Thump goes her heart. Andromeda is hiding under the bed. This is a fact. A brother is in the room. This too is a fact. Her father will say her brother is in the room. This is a lie. The brother walks silently, giving off no presence. If the door wasn’t squeaky, she’d be oblivious to them being there. The thought scares her a little. A silent brother is a dangerous thing to have. They stop walking when they are close to her, and she can hear them finally start to breath. “Are you under there, Andy?” Their voice is sugary poison. She doesn’t say a word. Instead, she stares at their feet, and fights the urge to scream. “Come on, Andy!” They lean down, and look at her. Look through her. “Let’s go play!” Andromeda chokes, and crawls backwards. They follow, the sound of giggling escaping their barely moving lips. “I don’t want to play!” She tries to stand, and trips on the rug. Falling feels like a second death, and she hasn’t even experienced the first. “You’re not my brother!” “Of course I am! Don’t you know me, Andy?” Their eyes are glassy, their smile a bit too bright. “Let’s play! We can do the best of games-” It’s not long before she pummels them, and watches their head snap to the side from the force of the blow. Their eyes shift back to her, bewildered. It’s as if they don’t know what hurt is, because they just sit back and touch the area with wonder. A moment of silence reigns. Andromeda inhales, and feels the beating of her heart in her chest, loud and proud. It’s juvenile, but comforting. It’s a fragile hope but… she wants her brother back. Maybe… maybe this is some spell. Maybe she’s helped him. Not-Brother shifts, puts down their hand, and starts to laugh in unison. By the time the servants pull her off of them, there is a tuft of no longer soft curls trapped in her bloodied fist. Not-Brother’s face is a germinating bruise. They continue to laugh, even as blood drips from their nose. They laugh, high and low all at once, and she hates them. She hates them more than anyone she’s ever hated in her life. The feeling of loathing is something Andromeda never forgets. Not ever. It is something that sticks with her for the rest of her days. She supposes the rumors are all true. Perhaps, she is a petty person. Who knew? ---- She sees the brother rarely from then on. They are not allowed alone together, and her mother refuses to see them. They stay on her father’s side of the castle, shielded by the falcon and the flame. Sometimes, they pass each other in the hallways. It is rare, but it happens. Every time, Andromeda flinches away. They always smile, and wave. Like nothing ever happened. Like they really are her brother. (Give her a break.) The worst moments are when she must visit them. Her father sends invitations. She burns them, and throws away the ash. When all that is said and done, she comes. She doesn’t want to be replaced too. So, Andromeda sits, and watches the brother watch her father. Sometimes, the three of them talk. Sometimes, there is nothing but silence. Every single time, she cries herself to sleep. ---- And then, suddenly, they are gone. It is spring when Not-Brother doesn’t show up to their monthly meetings. “What’s happened to him?” She finds her asking, saying words against her will. “What did you do to him?” “He’s just sleeping.” His look screams exasperation. Silence, child. Haven’t you done enough? They don’t talk for the rest of the time. Her mind whirls. Her hands fidget. It takes speaking to servants to learn the truth. Not-Brother is indeed sleeping, but this sleep is a permanent one. Not-Brother is dead. Andromeda can’t bring herself to feel sad, but the story leaves her awake at night. She can picture the mysterious someone sneaking iron filings into their food. She can see them eating the meal, blind to the danger, content in their flawed deception. But, try as she might, she cannot picture them dying, and it bothers her. She silently hopes they died screaming. It’s the only closure she can get. (If anyone can be called heartless, a Rao di Pasqua fits the bill.) ---- A few years pass, and Andromeda grows awkwardly, shooting up like a beanstalk. She is fascinated by money, by horses, by falconry. It’s in her blood, she thinks, to care about those things. Some want power. Some navigate the dark underbelly of life with finesse. Andromeda is not the type. She blunders, and falls. A more apt name is Icarus; her hands slap at the sun and come away singed. (If what Icarus covets is the sun, what she wants is her brother, and she drowns in the longing.) Her mother likes to emphasize how she has been robbed. Of a perfect childhood, of a brother, of a functional family. Her father is painted as the king of Bad Things, something she is sure her mother fully believes. But, all Andromeda sees are mistakes. He trusts fairies. A mistake. He doesn’t love her mother. A mistake. He gives his brother away, like common change. A mistake. He ignores her. A mistake. All she knows of him are his mistakes and failures, and she pities him. They don’t love each other. In fact, she hates him. It is not hard to feel sorry for him though. Whenever she sees him, he’s always so tired… ---- When she is summoned next, she’s surprised to find her mother already there before her. Her mother only comes to her father for Important Things. Whatever it is, it’s something she needs to be a witness for. Her father stands in the middle of the room. There are two people with him. They wear frayed robes, and their skin is a blue green. Fairies. “Hullo.” They say without speaking. “How are you today, Andromeda Jansi Rao di Pasqua?” She feels off kilter, and hates herself for it. “How do you know my name?” Her voice is shaky, soft. Weak. Delight buzzes in her head. It takes her a moment to realize that it’s not her own. “Kindly quell your confusion, princess of galaxies. We know many names.” “I don’t-” “That is alright too.” It is meant to be comforting, but her stomach churns instead. “We are very understanding, yes. We contain multitudes.” Her father shakes his head. “They want you to make a deal.” He says, the words crushing her spine into powder. “No.” “Andromeda, now’s not the time to be childish.” He continues, looking at the fairies out of the corner of his eye. “This.. This is good for you.” “No!” Andromeda turns on them, fuming. “You took my brother away from me!” “We gave him back.” The mirth doesn’t end. It only multiplies, sends her reeling. “Wasn’t he perfect? The best of brothers?” Not-Brother’s laugh replays in Andromeda’s head. “No. That was a brother, true. But not mine.” They pause. “How sad.” No more is said. Andromeda curls her hands into fists and feels her nails puncture the skin. “We can give you anything.” The two fairies take a step forward. “Anything you want.” Her vision blurs. She’s dancing through a meadow of green and yellow, and her brother is by her side. They hold hands as they twirl, happiness suffusing through the entirety of their being. It takes Andromeda a precious second to realize they are dancing amongst bones. She jerks back, the illusion fading just as she almost puts her hand in theirs. The fairies don’t deflate. They don’t react at all. “I’m leaving.” She declares. “You don’t have anything I’d want.” Her father wilts, but the two nod. “A foolish choice. The wrong choice. But a choice nonetheless.” Andromeda nods back. The look of the bones, cracked and blackened, is burned into her retinas. What part of this is something she wants? They are too alien, too removed, to understand what she longs for. She walks to her mother, and puts her hand in hers. “Let’s leave.” The hand squeezes back, hard enough to crack bone. Wincing, she tries to jerk away, but the hand is a claw like vice. It takes a second look for her to realize that her mother’s eyes are glassy, her smile a bit too bright. “Come on, Andy! Let’s play a game.” But Andy’s already lost. (fin.) ---- Thanks for reading!!! - Nyx Category:Fanfiction Category:Original Character Fanfiction